


The Fires Claim Her

by Salomonderiel



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, EITHER ship fits, Gen, I am so sorry, Sad, ambiguous shipping, tear-jerker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 02:37:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salomonderiel/pseuds/Salomonderiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They ran into that burning building to save people. And they did, they'll never regret that. But this time, for <em>them</em> - they lost more than they saved.</p>
<p>This fic broke my beta, and broke me. Still think it's one of the best things I've ever written.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fires Claim Her

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song 'Run For Your Life' by The Fray. I recommend you listen to it. Perhaps - if whilst you're reading - have some Kleenex ready?

It's not someone trying to take over the world. Nothing has come from outer space, no mad scientist has blown up Brooklyn, there's nothing coming up the sewers. No - it's just a fire.

 

The fire's at the biggest hospital in New York.

 

One look at the news on the TV, and the call goes out. It doesn't matter that _Fury_ hasn't called them in, that this isn't their usual deal. They can help, so they _will_ help. For them, it's that simple.

 

Only Tony and Nat get changed - Tony, for obvious reasons. Nat, because everyone agrees running into a burning building in shorts and a poorly fitting PJ top would be a bad idea. The rest of them - Steve, Thor, Clint - are wearing training clothes; they've been sparing.

 

And they can't afford to waste time.

 

Clint sends a swift text to Phil, Tony a quick message to Bruce. Both are at the Helicarrier, Bruce having been called in a biological expert to assist with a case of possibly biochemical warfare. Though the Hulk would help, the time it would take for him to arrive would burn away too many lives.

 

When they finally touch down, there's no cries of thanks, no hurrahs. There's directing fingers and orders as the Fire Department, the men who've been inside give swift directions of who's where, where the children's ward is, where the fire is hottest, where the fuel cells are, the radiography department. Tony is sent there, for the cancer patients nearby. His armour, he claims, can stop the radiation. Thor is sent to where the fire is strongest, after he states, matter of fact, the heat fazes him not. Steve sends Nat and Clint to split up and evacuate as much as they can, avoiding the worst because, simply, they are the most human and unprotected of them all. Steve sends himself to the children's section. They all know that his symbolism will calm them - there's no kid in America that wouldn't feel safe in the arms of Captain America.

 

There's one thing they don't realise, as they split off, heading into the building and running to the four corners. The 'worst' isn't limited to one section.

 

Fire has a habit of spreading.

 

Clint counts the wards as he clears them, carrying everything from young, weak men to grumpy middle-aged fat men, to elderly women worrying about bowel issues. One reminds him of the fortune teller at his circus, and it makes him smile for a second, after getting her out of the door.

 

7 wards cleared, he heads upstairs, and crashes into Nat who has an unconscious boy over her shoulders, and a confused, supposedly Alzheimer’s patient gripping her other arm. He helps her get them out, and with a brief communication about where the other has been, they head back up, running down a hall, smoke hiding the doors from them until they're right before them.

 

Clint pulls it open with a swift moment, hearing the click as the near air-tight doors swing forwards. He's half behind the door. It protects him.

 

The force of the explosion sends Nat flying back, flames tearing apart her suit, torching her skin.

 

The concussion means he doesn't know why she's not getting up. It doesn't make sense - Natasha's always on her feet, or on someone else's. And why would she lie down there, near danger? Surely she should be up. She should be running.

 

_She should be running._

 

Shaking his head, pressing a hand to where blood is slowly seeping out, down his face, a few drops of red covering his vision for a second, Clint scrambles to his feet and falls against the door. It swings away from him, and falls to the floor.

 

To his left, someone's screaming. _There's someone in there_.

 

To his right, his partner, the one he fought so many battles, made so many oaths with, is unconscious.

 

He doesn't try to stand up, but scrambles across the floor, nails scratching at the floor, trying to find leverage, a way to drag himself forwards. It takes times, but he gets there. He gets to her.

 

He slides his hand along the floor - there's blood, he's spreading blood but can't see where it's from - and presses it to the side of her face. "C'mon, Nat," he slurred. "C'mon, you gotta wake up for now, you gotta get up and out of here, it's burning down, we're gonna get burnt-" he draws on energy he isn't even sure he has, and slams his hand against her face. "You said, remember? You wouldn't die without me. Us two, blaze of glory, and I'm not out Nat, I'm not out, you gotta... you gotta wait for me, Nat, come ON-" and he's slamming down onto her chest, and it's not moving, it's not raising, she's not breathing, she not ANSWERING HIM and it hits him, hits him so fucking hard that he can't breathe because Nat has finally broken her word.

 

She's left him behind.

 

Someone's screaming in the flames, and Clint finally knows what type of a man he is.

 

He lowers his head, moans, cries, sobs his heart out - that part that died with his partner of seven years - and falls onto her. His screaming joins that of the other person.

 

He wants the flames to cover him.

 

Instead, it's something else.

 

It's frantic hands. It's desperate, hot breath. It's a voice muttering, "Clint, oh god, Clint, say something c'mon you gotta get up Clint, c'mon, please, for me-"

 

It's Phil. Phil Coulson. The Phil Coulson that gave him a purpose in life and gave him a job when he was in the gutters and made him a fucking _hero_ and that gives him enough energy to say her name.

 

It's the biggest explanation he can give, and the only one he needs to give.

 

Phil's mourning behind him, but Phil's always been the better man and he knows what must be done. "Stand up, Clint."

 

"Natasha-"

 

"Stand _up_ , Clint!" The hands aren't frantic, they're ordering, pulling him upright and that's a _bigger_ hand, that can wrap around Clint and lifts him upright. His eyes fall slowly from Natasha's body to see the Other Guy beside Phil.

 

There's tears in his eyes.

 

"We've got to get her out," Phil says, his eyes on Natasha. "We've got to get her out of here. Can you walk?"

 

"I can walk," Clint says, a breath more than a voice. "There's others-"

 

Phil nods, and sets a hand on the Other Guy's side. "Of you go, big guy."

 

The Other Guy meets Clint's eyes, and there's a hollowness there, that must be ten times worse in Clint's. A moan, a deep moan that makes the whole fucking corridor shake and Clint wishes his mourning could tear down the _city_ , before the Other Guy turns away, and runs into the fire.

 

"Help me with her," Phil says, and his voice is as strong as ever, a tell that only Clint has learnt, over far too many operations and battles together. "Help me."

 

Wordlessly, thoughtlessly, Clint helps Phil pick up Natasha, to put her over his shoulders. He checks she's in place, she's there, that Phil's okay. He sees the tears the voice doesn't show. His tears aren’t so silent.

 

They don't say anything else. They run from the building. They get out into fresh air, coughing, Medics swarming and checking and moaning and blaspheming and swearing. One sobs. They take her, lift her off Phil and carry her to an ambulance.

 

Clint doesn't watch her go. She's gone where he can't follow, and that's enough. That's the worst of it.

 

He and Phil sit down where they are, hands clasped, tears streaming. They wait, there, outside the building slowly burning down until it's all over. Until the others hear about it, and come to sit next to them. As water and soot streams through New York, as policemen yell orders, sirens scream and family cry and wail, the Avengers sit in the centre of it all - watching, shoulder to shoulder, as it all burns down.

**Author's Note:**

> Sincerest apologies. 
> 
> The lyrics that inspired this, because they REALLY deserve some recognition:
> 
> Seventeen years by her side  
> Broke the same bread  
> Wore the same clothes and we said  
> We're sisters with nothing between  
> If one of us fall  
> The other will soon be following
> 
> Both of you fell the same day  
> You don't know why  
> One of you never woke up  
> And you laid your body down on the floor  
> You're desperate to hear her footsteps again  
> But this house is on fire, we need to go
> 
> Oh, you don't have to go it alone, go it alone
> 
> Run for your life, my love  
> Run and you don't give up  
> It's all that you are  
> All that you want  
> I will be close behind  
> Run for your life


End file.
